¡Ay, Qué Calor!

Balearic dreams are on the rise: in the distance, songs so old that they never aged stir hips and contort bodies into sinuous twists. Toma que toma, toma que toma que toma, toma que toma que toma ta. The distance becomes a blur; heat, so present it’s almost solid, absorbs the landscape and draws our previously dormant desires into its haze. If recent summers are anything to go by, there will be lava in our veins for the next two months. Don’t be surprised if, in the midst of the swelter, you catch yourself speaking Spanish.